The Old Soft Shoe

Last Thursday, Bali Barret, the “women’s universe” artistic director for Hermès, sat beneath stained-glass windows at the Gallim Dance company, at the Church of St. Luke and St. Matthew, in Brooklyn. She had arrived from Paris the day before. Beside her was Gallim’s choreographer, Andrea Miller, whose work usually focusses on “social and political issues: pack mentality, crowd behavior.” (She recently won a Guggenheim.) Around them, dancers warmed up, surrounded by dozens of Hermès handbags and shoes; muscular men in suits at the doors resembled ushers. “This is a church, so we’re praying while dancing,” Barret said.

The dancers were rehearsing for All About Women, a fashion show, party, and feat of Surréalisme, a year in the making, that Barret created for Hermès lovers from around the world. The event—to be held this Tuesday in a huge two-story space in the former J. P. Morgan building on Wall Street—will feature, among other amazements, a swimwear room, with a diving board; an equestrian room, with hay bales; pompom boys; a fortune-teller who will read silk scarves; sketch artists; an all-white perfume room, with nymphs, paper flowers, white food, and clear drinks (“It’s about eating flowers and everything white. It’s about eating perfume,” Barret said); and live “animations”—dances—on themes of swimwear, shoes, and handbags. “The party is very much like a theatre—grand style, just for fun,” Barret said.

Barret wore a blue chambray jumpsuit—“It’s a worker, I’m working, being in the dust all day”—black Hermès loafers, and a shibori-dyed indigo Hermès scarf. Before the rehearsal, she explained her concepts for the four shoe dances: the Lampshade, in which a woman in heels dances under a hanging lampshade (“A bit of humor. It’s very Duchamp”); the Shoe Addict (“The girl who wants shoes and shoes and shoes and more shoes—it’s a reality”); the Equestrian (“She has no horse. She has a pommel horse. Her phantasm is doing this on a horse”); and the Staircase (“A story about rhythm. Everything is very speed—and walking up and down and up and down”).

The Equestrian was first. A tall dancer in a black leotard and riding boots danced on and around a pommel horse, waving a red crop. She danced over to a pair of black Brides de Gala boots, with the famous Hermès print, and put them on. The dancer did footwork that resembled drill exercises, a serious look in her eyes.

Barret smiled. “She looks crazy. She looks like she has a little problem,” she said approvingly.

The Lampshade was jazzy. A dancer in crocodile pumps stood under a hanging paper shade the size of a kick drum, her head obscured, and danced, a tappy, Charlestony thing. “She’s alive and happy!” Barret said. The dancer discovered more shoes—Hermès-red suède peep toes—and went slinking over to them. Miller said, “I was telling her to point with the shoes: Where would you like to go? How would you like to dance with these shoes?”

Then, gravity: the Shoe Addict. In front of the stage, a dancer sprawled upside down in a chair, surrounded by orange Hermès boxes and a semicircle of footwear. She kicked her heels, looking around, wild-eyed. “So she’s the addict,” Barret said. “She’s really sick.”

The dancer stood and danced toward some fuzzy black shoes. “Leather and mink, so soft,” Barret said. The dancer eyed blue velvet pumps and danced, holding a box. She picked up a second box and stroked it. A third, a fourth. She piled a fifth on top, staggering. Barret laughed. The dancer discovered a long box on the floor, writhed around, and opened it, revealing extra-tall boots. She put one on, and made a face like bliss.

“It’s like orgasm, the thigh boot, no?” Barret said.

It was time for the bag rehearsal. “For most people, Hermès bags are Kelly and Birkin,” Barret said. “The reality is that there are many other bags.” Eight women in Hermès scarves, white jumpsuits, and black velvet-and-leather pumps took the stage, holding green and blue leather bags. They looked like retro stewardesses, or fashionable astronauts.

The women danced, kicking their legs, jumping, waving the bags in the air. A woman with bobbed hair and red lipstick danced gaily with a clutch. “It’s very Nouvelle Vague,” Barret said. Their bags: Constance, “a very famous seventies bag”; the Berline, “new, inspired by a car seat”; the Halezan, “a new bag no one’s ever seen,” with clever adjustable straps.

Miller leaned toward Barret. “What we have in mind is that they have a secret—and it’s in her purse,” she said. “Like a perfect little cupcake or something.” The dancers blew kisses at the audience. ♦

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